


Sad, Mortal And Bearable

by Crave



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Bottom Harry Potter, Hospitals, Light BDSM, M/M, Magic, Medical, Potions Shop Owner Draco Malfoy, Soul Bond, Top Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22058593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crave/pseuds/Crave
Summary: It didn't take long for the blood to dry, but the headache stuck around.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 257
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019





	1. Scorched But Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Title and chapter names from Mary Oliver's "The Fire". Written for Fandom Trumps Hate 2019 for my bidder Tommygirl.

It didn't take long for the blood to dry, but the headache stuck around. Harry knew a concussion well enough at that point, so he knew it wasn't that. But after more than a week it was irritating and then the next week he was sick enough of it that he brought it up over dinner.

Hermione muttered under her breath and gestured with her wand and Harry waited.

"Well?" Hermione said.

"You did the spell already?"

"Didn't it work?" Hermione frowned.

Harry shook his head. Hermione tried something else and when that didn't work Harry realised he might have to go to St Mungo's. Hermione let him go another five days before teaming up with Ron to drag him there after work.

The mediwizard cast four spells on him in a row when Harry walked in, the man's frown getting worse every time Harry told him the headache was still there.

After that they sent for another, older mediwitch, who studied Harry intently for a minute, not saying anything. She had thick grey hair, cut very short, and was seated in a wheelchair which she seemed to be propelling with her thoughts. It hovered an inch or so off the ground and was made of wood. Harry wondered if it maybe used the same magic as a broomstick.

"When did it start?" She asked.

"I was chasing, er, someone and she threw a book at my head. It was pretty heavy, and the spine cut me."

The witch sighed. "And you didn't come here after that because?"

"Getting things thrown at me is part of the job," Harry said, shrugging. The list of things he'd had thrown at him just that year was too long to remember but included a live gecko, a ceremonial sword, and an entire cauldron of blowflies.

She looked like she might argue but seemed to think better of it. "I don't suppose you know what book it was?" She asked.

"No clue, sorry."

They did some tests to check for curses and couldn't find any, but that didn't mean he hadn't been cursed just that if he had it was probably really rare and nasty.

After awhile they flooed someone, who flooed someone else, who telephoned someone, who sent an owl, and three weeks later Harry was sitting in the office of one Draco Malfoy.

Neither Ron nor Hermione tried to talk him out of it, which was worrying. Even worse, Harry didn't try to argue either. The headache felt like his brain was pressed right up against the inside of his skull, an unbearable pressure that wouldn't let him eat or sleep.

"What seems to be the trouble, Mister Potter?" Malfoy asked. It was a pretty bad attempt at a casual tone, but the attempt made Harry feel at least a little better about how awkward the whole thing was.

"I have a headache," Harry said, "it's getting worse. They said you might be able to make a potion to help while St Mungo's try to figure out what's going on."

"The letter I received from my colleague says you were struck on the head with a cursed book."

Malfoy sounded so ridiculously professional that Harry could tell he was genuinely trying not to be a git. 

"It started when I got hit, but they don't know yet if it was cursed."

"I suppose you have tried the more common remedies?"

"They gave me a lot of potions at St Mungo's, nothing seemed to touch it. But apparently you're good at that kind of thing."

Malfoy winced, though Harry had no idea why. Still, he had Harry run through the same tests he'd taken already and then a number of increasingly strange ones like having Harry sneeze into a bag of orange dust while standing on one leg. Harry wondered if it was some kind of joke, but he didn't have the energy to ask.

After all the testing was over with, Malfoy hummed to himself and stood up.

"I can make you something that will help, though it will wear off in a week or so."

"A week?" He'd have taken anything, even just five minutes.

Malfoy frowned. "All right, Potter, I know it's hardly ideal-"

"No!" Harry was almost halfway out of his seat, "no! Please, a week would be… a week would be great. Thank you."

There was a silence, during which Malfoy stared at Harry like he'd grown an extra head.

"Well," Malfoy said at last. "Wait here, it shouldn't take more than half an hour."

Harry wanted to laugh at him but managed to hold it back. Malfoy looked so silly as an adult, his pointy face was even pointier - the nose even a little beaky - and his white-blonde hair, normal even on a teenager, looked a little strange on a full grown man. But there was something compelling about him too, as his long pale fingers opened jars and deftly measured out their contents.

Harry had only begun to notice himself noticing blokes after Hogwarts. Before then, it had seemed easier to stick with what he knew, and it wasn't as if he'd had anyone to ask about it. That had been the main thing, he supposed, not having anyone to ask - anyone to even think to ask. Sometimes he wondered if he could have asked Sirius, who seemed to have kept suspiciously quiet on the subject.

Even knowing about Dumbledore and Grindelwald, it was telling that nobody mentioned him maybe having had a boyfriend. Dumbledore had been 150 years old when he died, more or less, and it seemed strange that in that whole time he'd never had even a year or two dating someone who wouldn't turn out to be a mass murderer. Apparently if he had, he'd kept quiet about it, which seemed sad.

At least in the muggle world Harry knew the rules well enough, he'd seen gay men on television enough times to know they existed and it was possible to have an okay life. The wizarding world was different. Harry had no idea if it was so insignificant that nobody cared enough to mention it or so important that they'd put him in Azkaban if they found out.

Harry thought probably someone would have mentioned if it was that bad. And definitely that someone would have been Hermione. So it was probably safe to flirt a little with Malfoy, if he wanted.

Except, Malfoy's robe sleeve was pushed up a little so he could work. And even though it wasn't pushed up far, the head of the snake was almost visible. There was far too much history there for it to be okay. 

Malfoy mixed everything together and Harry watched him work, guilty but not quite enough to stop.

When at last Malfoy was done, Harry took the potion out of his hand and their fingertips brushed just a little. The sensation was electric and wonderful and Harry had to force himself not to drop the vial.

When their eyes met, Draco looked - strangely, he looked hurt. 

"Sorry," it was out of Harry's mouth before he could think.

"I can't imagine what for. Take three drops on the back of the tongue before bed, and so long as it doesn't turn your tongue black by morning you can drink the whole vial tomorrow."

"Thank you," Harry hadn't been more grateful for a potion since the felix felicis.

"If the headache persists, I can make you a stronger vial next week," Draco said. 

It did persist. Got worse, if anything, and Harry found himself back in Malfoy's office every week. The first few times he resisted the urge to flirt, if not the urge to stare, but it didn't last.

"Thank you," Harry said, on his fifth visit, taking the potion vial and letting their fingers touch on purpose. The delicious sensation of it swept through him again, as it had the first time, and this time Malfoy didn't look hurt so much as he looked, perhaps, a little guilty.

Harry smiled a full smile at him, and Draco's cheeks went pink. His skin was so pale the effect was quite impressive, spreading across his cheeks like wet ink on parchment. Harry was glad his own dark skin hid a blush.

The sixth time Harry was a little bolder, rubbing his thumb over Malfoy's hand when taking the bottle. That time Draco was the one to jump, nearly knocking the vial to the floor.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked.

"D'you, er," Harry swallowed and took a breath, remembering the 'wangoballwime' incident with Cho and determined to at least get the words out like a normal person. "Want to come for dinner?"

"I'm sorry, I- what?" Malfoy said at last, finally seeming to hear what Harry was saying.

"Do you want to come to mine for dinner? I'm a pretty decent cook, and I owe you something for all the potions."

"Well, I…" Malfoy trailed off. His face was pink and Harry kind of wanted to kiss it. "All right," said Draco. His eyes went wide and he seemed surprised at his own answer

"Tomorrow at six?" Harry offered.

"Yes." Draco's voice went up at the end like it was a question, but Harry chose to ignore that. He gave Malfoy the paper with his address, given that Grimmauld Place was impossible to find without it.

"See you then," Harry said, taking the vial and hurrying out of the office before Draco could change his mind.

Harry had no idea what he was doing, but he did at least know how to cook after his time with the Dursleys. He decided on a pie, since that was straightforward enough.

The next day he was too stressed to think straight. He started prepping for the pie at 7am and by midday he was full of so much nervous energy he ended up taking himself for a run. He came home, after running a lot further and faster than expected, and stripped his sweaty clothes off in the hallway to get them off as quickly as possible.

He realised his mistake far too late. Draco was in the sitting room, Kreacher at his elbow with a tray of tea and biscuits, and the two of them were watching Harry in the hall with near-identical expressions of shock.

There was a moment of terrible stillness, Draco with the teacup and saucer halfway to his lips, Harry stark naked and dripping with sweat, Kreacher's mouth gaping open in surprise and alarm.

Then, the stillness broke and Harry sprinted upstairs and threw himself into the bathtub, stepping under the spray of the shower before it had a chance to get warm and scrubbing frantically. He dried as quickly as possible, and dressed himself in the nearest items of clothing he could find that he hadn't spilled something on. 

All in all it took maybe ten minutes before Harry was back downstairs. Harry was glad to see Kreacher was gone, at least, though Draco was still there. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that, other than embarrassed.

"Sorry!" Harry said, stepping into the living room. He considered taking one of Kreacher's biscuits so he'd look less nervous, then realised his mouth was too dry for him to swallow anything.

"My my Potter, do you always put on a show for your guests?" Draco's tone was the same one he'd used back at Hogwarts but his eyes were smiling.

"Only the ones that get here early. It's not even one o'clock."

"I was stopping by to say I'd be late this evening due to a client meeting. I was going to drop in a note but then Kreacher was rather insistent about offering me tea."

Well that made sense. Harry and Kreacher had agreed a sort of truce, but there was no question the house elf would still rather serve purebloods than Harry.

"How about lunch instead?" Harry offered.

"I… yes, all right."

Harry was distracted for a moment by the funny angle of Malfoy's eyebrows, and by the fact he had clearly coloured them in with make-up. They were normally so pale they were almost invisible but drawing them on made his surprise even more visible.

Harry was attracted to a man who drew on his own eyebrows. He tried to calm down. Women did it all the time, probably.

"Lunch?" Draco said. Interrupting Harry's minor crisis.

It went well enough, lunch, even though Harry spent the entire time feeling like he was facing off against the Hungarian Horntail again - this time without a broomstick.

The radio was low in the kitchen as they ate at the big oak table. Harry couldn't taste the pie at all, and couldn't keep his eyes from staring at Draco's face either.

Harry cleared everything away and was staring helplessly into the kitchen sink when Draco finally put him out of his misery.

"Go on then," Draco said.

Harry turned. "Oh?"

But rather than answering, Draco stepped closer and put his mouth on Harry's. Harry's whole body shook with it, and with the frantic urge to get closer.

Draco had his hands in Harry's hair and he was gasping, shivering, pressing Harry closer and then down so that Harry was on his knees on the kitchen floor and then Draco's trousers were open and Draco's cock was pushing into his mouth.

It was almost perfect, how close they were, Draco filling his mouth and his throat. Harry's whole body was bright and alive and he could almost ignore how much he wanted them to be even closer, how he wanted to tangle them together so tightly they couldn't be pulled apart.

Even the skin between them felt like it was getting in the way. Harry could feel the muscles in Draco's thighs shivering and he wanted to be in that feeling with him, he wanted to disappear inside Draco's body, his thoughts.

He was shivering, his whole body felt covered in sweat and he was trying to get Draco's cock deeper into his mouth when Draco pushed him away.

It was impossible how much it hurt. Quirrel's hands on his skin hadn't felt like that. There was a hideous, animal noise coming from his mouth. He thought he might throw up, or piss himself, and then it was over and Draco had his hand on Harry's skin again.

It was over because Draco had his hand on him.

Harry gripped that hand and pressed it against his skin and took deep breaths now that he could breathe.

Draco tried to pull away but Harry didn't let him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't let go. Just for a minute."

"All right, Harry."

It took longer than a minute before Harry could even let Draco try to take his hand away, and then it hurt too much to try again.

"We need to go to St Mungo's," Harry said, "I can't be awake for this."

"Harry." Draco was holding Harry's wrist. "Do you know what you were trying to do?" 

"No, I- I was, we were having sex and you didn't want to and that's fine, that's okay. I'm sorry I'm making it worse."

"So you don't know."

"I-"

"You were trying to bond with me."

Harry thought that was a weird, if sweet, way to describe a blowjob.

Draco sighed. "I mean, you were trying to create a soul bond. It's an ancient marriage right, still practised in some wizarding families."

Harry remembered wanting to be closer to Draco somehow, impossibly close.

"Sorry," Harry said, "It was an accident. I wasn't trying to, er, marry you."

"Of course you weren't, you're an idiot but you're not a complete lunatic."

"I didn't realise that's what I was doing."

"What did you think you were doing?"

"Nothing!"

Draco's raised eyebrows suggested that wasn't going to cut it.

"I don't know what I was doing, all right? It just felt, uh, like the right thing to do."

"Hm." The noise conveyed what an idiot Malfoy thought he was being.

They got dressed, not easy when Harry needed to have at least one body part touching Draco's skin in order to function, and then Draco apparated them to St Mungo's. Harry's third time there that week.

They sent him straight to the same mediwitch he'd seen the first time. She rolled her eyes and urged them into her office.

By the time Harry and Draco had finished explaining what happened, the witch's eyebrows were in her hairline.

"These symptoms are usually only seen in refuted bonds, or where one half of the bond died suddenly," she said.

"I think I'd know if I'd been married before," Harry said.

"Someone might have done it and obliviated you," she said, "given your profile, it's not unheard of."

"Is there a way to check?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Can you think of any other ways your soul might have been damaged?"

Harry was about to say no when he remembered. The sick and terrible feeling that crept through him at the memory must have shown on his face because the witch frowned.

"Out with it," she said.

"I had a piece of Voldemort's soul attached to me," Harry said.

Malfoy, who had been giving Harry at least the illusion of privacy, almost jumped out of his seat. "What?!" He demanded.

Malfoy stopped touching him. Harry felt the pain close over him and stifled a yell. Malfoy huffed and put a hand on Harry's elbow and it ebbed away.

"How did this come about?" The witch asked.

"It was a Horcrux," Harry explained, and her face scrunched up in disgust.

Draco butted in. "And was this Horcrux destroyed?" He asked.

"Well, er, kind of." 

"Kind of?" Draco and the mediwitch said at the same time.

"I died, and that killed the Horcrux." The mediwitch and Draco looked equally confused. "I came back," Harry tried to explain, "I had the resurrection stone."

It was Draco, of course, who broke the silence. "Setting aside the existence of a mythological item and his own demise," he said to the witch, "is this likely to be the reason for his, ah, compulsion to bond himself to me?"

"I don't know," the mediwitch said, "but thankfully we've got a healer here who specialises in soul bonds."

She sent for the healer, who introduced herself as Phyllis Akenzua and immediately took out a Quick-Quotes Quill. Akenzua paused at the look on Harry's face.

"Is something the matter, Mister Potter?" she asked, quill dangling in the air. Her hair was a mass of tiny, intricate braids which had been gathered together into a larger braid that nearly touched the floor.

"No it's-" Harry struggled to explain, "the quill, I-"

"Being something of a celebrity, our Mister Potter has had some rather unfortunate experiences with reporters using Quick-Quotes," Draco said.

Harry turned to him, at first surprised and then remembering their shared history with Rita Skeeter.

"Ah," Akenzua sighed, "yes, I can just imagine the use a gossip rag would get out of these. However, they have their legitimate uses too. You are of course welcome to look at your own medical history at any time, including my notes from today."

"Thanks," Harry said.

The mediwitch they'd seen earlier filled Akenzua in on Harry's medical history, while the Quick Quotes Quill copied out everything more or less word for word.

"Now, I am sure you've answered a lot of questions since you got here, but I will need to ask more. Given your current situation with Mister Malfoy, I must ask for your consent to proceed with these questions in his presence. If I ask something which you would prefer not to answer aloud please let me know and I can provide parchment for you to write down your answer confidentially."

"That's fine," Harry said. Harry was surprised to find he didn't have all that many secrets from Draco any more.

"So, you are experiencing symptoms of a damaged soul bond, is that correct?" Akenzua asked.

"I don't know," Harry said, "I've had a constant headache, I tried to bond with Draco by accident, and now every time he stops touching me the pain is worse than ever."

"Did this take place during sexual intercourse?"

Harry swallowed. "Yes."

"How is the pain with him touching you, compared to the general level?" Akenzua asked.

Harry had to think about it. "Actually a lot better, not gone completely but almost."

"And Draco is treating you for this pain?"

"That's right."

"You have been experiencing pain symptoms for months now, has the migraine worsened over time?" 

"Yes."

"I assume you were somewhat, ah, distracted with Mister Malfoy, did you take your dose of pain relief for this week?"

"I…" Harry honestly could not remember.

"Merlin!" Malfoy hissed. "I can go and get it now. That is, if Harry can handle it."

Akenzua sighed. "Harry, is it okay if Draco apparates to collect your treatment before returning to the hospital?"

Harry nodded, since any other answer would sound stupid. There was a crack and then Harry nearly doubled over, gritting his teeth to hold back the noise that was coming out of him. It was so intense it rang through his entire body, the kind of pain that drove a fox to gnaw off its own leg to escape a trap, that drove people to leap off buildings. Heady, dizzying waves of it crawled up his throat and suddenly he was vomiting all over the clean hospital floor and his own shoes.

Another crack, and some shouting, and "scourgify!" and a hand on Harry's face and it was Draco's face, Draco's hand, and Harry wanted to press that hand closer and he wanted to bite it for going away but instead he just let it happen, let it work its magic until he could think clearly again.

Draco cupped both hands around Harry's cheeks and pressed a firm kiss to his forehead. He leaned away, still keeping one hand on Harry's head, and returned with a glass vial.

"Open," Draco said.

Harry opened his mouth and Draco fed him the potion in small, careful swallows. By the time he'd got the whole vial down he was feeling a lot better.

"You could have said no," Akenzua sounded exasperated.

"I didn't realise it would be that bad," Harry said, his voice rasped and his mouth tasted of sick and whatever was in the potion vial.

"From what my colleague has told me, and the severity of your symptoms, I suspect you had some form of soul bond with Voldemort," Akenzua said. "These bonds can be created involuntarily, as you have seen in your interactions with Mister Malfoy."

"So why am I like this now, and not years ago?" Harry asked.

"I suspect it was some effect of the book which struck you. My theory is that it was a binding book, a way of sealing a soul bond between wealthy families. Binding books can cause difficulties for those with broken or damaged bonds."

"Is there a cure?" Harry asked.

"Well," said Akenzua, which meant no.


	2. What I Had To Do

He was just about keeping it together when Malfoy arrived. It had been days since he checked into the hospital and he was exhausted, his head hurting worse than ever. The potions worked for a little while, and then the pain would come back and the urge to just… reach out and grab hold of anyone, to bond, was almost unbearable. He'd managed just about, curling up in his hospital bed around his pillow and holding it tight in his arms, unable to help himself.

Malfoy smelled expensive, the same kind of cologne and that posh shampoo smell that came out of hairdressers. It was a welcome change from the hospital, where every inch of it had been scourgified so thoroughly it smelled like nothing at all. It was almost too much.

Harry knew what it felt like to have another person's soul in him. Of course it had been wrong, having Voldemort's mind and thoughts open to him. It was terrible to have his whole body possessed by someone so cruel and empty.

So it didn't make sense why Harry wanted it back. Not the terrifying visions of the dark lord, but just something there. It made it even stranger that he wanted it with Malfoy, of all people.

He could touch other people briefly, a hug, a handshake, and keep it under control. But it turned out that too much of it with Malfoy made him a bit weird, too clingy and intense. And that didn't seem like something Malfoy would be okay with, or like he'd want. 

More and more with Draco he felt like his soul was trying to crawl out of his body to touch him, and it was like Malfoy could feel it too because he always stiffened and pulled back. One time he'd looked almost panicked. Harry hadn't wanted to touch him too much after that.

Sometimes he fantasised about what it might have felt like if Malfoy'd let him do it that first time they'd been together. If he'd let their thoughts connect the way Harry wanted them to. 

"Hermione said on the phone that the potions have stopped working," Malfoy said.

Harry wondered when mudblood had turned into Hermione. Then he thought of the two of them talking about his stupid bonding problem and felt a little sick.

"Yeah I… yeah."

"You look dreadful."

"I feel like shit."

Malfoy gave a theatrical sigh. "Look," he paused. "It's not that I thought I was going to marry for love or anything, but I really can't marry you."

Harry blinked at him. "I never asked you to." The thought of Draco marrying anyone he didn't love was painful, even if it was Harry, even if it would fix Harry's soul. 

"Even some of your awful friends would be a better choice than you. I'm not sworn enemies with all of them." Draco continued, as if Harry hadn't said anything.

"I don't think we've been enemies since the trial," Harry said. "For starters, your mum saved my life."

"It's just not done," Draco continued, ignoring Harry again.

"Then don't!"

"On the other hand," Draco went on, "how can I do anything else?"

Harry, about to open his mouth and scream in frustration, stopped short.

Draco was smiling. He was standing up and he was putting his hand on Harry's bare skin and helping him check out of the hospital and then he was apparating the two of them to Malfoy manor.

The house seemed to know what was happening, because candles were lighting themselves and there was a faint incense smell and the curtains were drawn as they stepped into Malfoy's room.

An anxious buzzing had started in Harry's skin, and he felt as if he was barely held together, as if of him was waiting to fly apart. Draco lifted Harry's foot and slid off Harry's ugly wool sock, then repeated with the other.

Draco folded the socks and worked open Harry's jeans with his thin, precise fingers. Draco eased down the zipper and helped Harry out of his clothes one item at a time, carefully folding each one.

It was too much, and it was still happening. It should have been unbearable except it was all he'd ever wanted. Every moment curled up in his cupboard and all those summers hiding from Dudley. Just someone who was his, really his, a person who could never leave him. He could feel his half of the bond putting out its greedy feelers and grasping at Draco.

"That's right," Draco's thumb brushed over his skin, fingers slightly cold, holding him still as Harry shivered. The need to be closer somehow was overwhelming and Harry felt himself pressing through that connection, Draco's touch, into his mind.

Harry could feel it in Draco's chest, a kind of awful tenderness. Draco's thoughts were so raw they were unbearable.

"But you don't-" Harry said, even though it was pretty obvious that Draco did.

"You must be able to feel it. I can tell with you, you know, I knew when you did."

"Oh." Harry thought back to that moment, the two of them in Harry's kitchen with the radio on low, and Draco's mouth smiling broad and wide, showing all his teeth.

Draco didn't take off any of his own clothes, just helped Harry get on his knees on the bed, facing the carved wooden headboard.

Harry had no clue how to say what he wanted but it didn't matter, he was getting it anyway, Draco got a handful of hair at the nape of his neck and held it, pushing Harry's forehead into the pillows. Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. 

Draco murmured a spell and Harry's hole was immediately wet. There was the clink of a belt, the hiss of a zipper, and then the blunt head of Draco's dick rubbed firmly over him before pushing in.

Draco hadn't bothered to stretch him at all, so his hole ached and twitched as it spread wide. Draco moved slow until he was in, then thrust quickly, taking his pleasure and seeming to take no notice of Harry's.

It was only Draco's hands that kept him there, and they felt too good to resist, stroking over his bare skin and then between his legs before moving away, teasing. Harry's dick twitched and a thick bead of precome leaked out.

Harry had his hands knotted in the bedsheets and there were words coming out of his own mouth but he couldn't understand them and Draco was open for him, his thoughts were open.

"Please," Harry heard himself say, "please, I'll do anything."

Draco was gentling him, coaxing him to relax, and Harry could feel how much Draco liked it - having the darling of the wizarding world at his mercy. Draco felt guilty for feeling that way, Harry could tell that too, but couldn't deny the pleasure either

"It's okay," Harry said, and Draco groaned in embarrassment but didn't stop.

Whatever was slicking his hole tingled slightly as Draco worked himself in and out, and there was so much of it that Harry felt his cheeks get hot at the loud wet sounds and the sensation of it leaking down his thighs. 

"I love how wet you are," Draco said, fucking himself in and out in smooth strokes.

"You made me like this."

"And it feels incredible. You're so hot and tight and I can feel how much you like it."

Harry huffed and Draco kissed his hair and thrust harder.

"Touch me," Harry begged.

"I can feel how close you are," Draco said, which was not a yes.

Draco's hand found one of Harry's nipples and pinched hard and Harry's whole body twitched and Draco did it again and again, until it was sensitive and painful and Harry wanted it to stop almost as much as he wanted it to continue.

Harry's hole felt hot and sore, and his arms and legs hurt from holding him up, and his balls were tight against his body, and his cock ached, and his hip was bruised where Draco was gripping him tight, and he wanted to come so badly. He'd never wanted it more in his life.

Draco was moving faster, chasing his own orgasm. He pressed himself against Harry's back and bit down on Harry's neck, muffling a noise, and went still.

Through the bond, Harry could almost feel Draco's orgasm and whined as Draco pulled out, cold air moving over his wet and dripping hole.

Draco flipped Harry over and laid him flat on his back. Draco leaned over and rummaged through a bedside cabinet, coming back with a thick, black dildo. It slid smoothly into Harry's hole, though it was wider and longer than Draco's cock. 

"I'm gonna fuck you with this until you come," Draco told him, "don't touch yourself."

Draco slid the toy all the way out and all the way back in and Harry came messily onto his own stomach.

The next morning Harry awoke in Malfoy's enormous bed, the sheets were perfectly soft and Draco was asleep beside him. His face was smoothed out and vulnerable, mouth open slightly. 

"You can refute it," Harry told him. He'd remembered that much at least.

Draco shook his head. "Of course I'm not going to refute you, come here."

Harry went and Draco pulled him towards the kitchen and sat him down. There were familiar sounds and smells and for a moment Harry couldn't work it out until there was suddenly bacon and eggs in front of him and then Draco was sitting down opposite him with an expectant expression.

There was a long silence in which Harry stared at the eggs and back at Draco until it clicked.

"Thank you," he rasped.

Draco nodded, seeming satisfied, and - for the want of anything to do - Harry ate his breakfast.

The person Harry had been for the last month and a half, drowsy and aching and miserable, was gone. Now he was just incredibly confused. And hungrier than he thought, it turned out, making short work of the bacon and eggs.

"There'll be a ceremony, of course," Draco said, when Harry was done.

"What?"

"A bonding ceremony, Potter, I'm hardly going to elope with you."


End file.
